


Ruin

by raja815



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Body Horror, Comment Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raja815/pseuds/raja815
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was able to halt the progression of the organisms with a controlled phaser blast, and in doing so cauterize the wounds and prevent further loss of blood. However, I believe there will be a certain degree of scarring."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> For a comment fic prompt on the 'body horror' theme: "Star Trek XI, Jim/Author's choice. Jim's face is scarred/burned and he refuses to let his partner see him. (Possibly further complicated if said partner is the ship's doctor.)" 
> 
> Love me some body horror, and love me some McCoy. Fic practically wrote itself.

"I was able to halt the progression of the organisms with a controlled phaser blast," Spock is saying, his voice a calm monotone against the steady beep of the bioscanner. But McCoy isn't looking at Spock; he's looking at Jim.

"...and in doing so, cauterize the wounds and prevent further loss of blood," Spock continues, as McCoy watches the Captain. Jim is sitting on the edge of the biobed, still wearing his ripped and soiled uniform, facing the wall with both hands pressed against his face. He does not look up, does not even move. 

"However," Spock says, and for the first time McCoy turns his gaze to meet the Vulcan's. "I believe there will be a certain degree of scarring." 

"The dermal regenerator—" McCoy tries, but stops almost at once. All Spock has to do is blink at him, and McCoy knows everything he needs to know. The Vulcan's a pain, but he's one of the best scientists in the fleet. Regeneration must be out.

"All right, Spock, I'll take it from here." McCoy says, and walks quietly over to the bed.

"Hey there, Jimmy-boy," he says. "How's the pain?" 

For a long moment, Jim doesn't answer.

"No pain," he finally says. "Spock gave me something from the med kit before beamup. Antibiotic too."

"Well, guess he's not completely useless after all," McCoy says, reaching across the bed for Jim's wrist to pull his hands aside. "Come on. Let me have a look, and we'll get you bandaged and—"

But Jim pulls away, turning further into the wall. Hiding.

"Jim—" McCoy starts.

"Let one of the nurses do it," Jim whispers from the corner of his mouth, barely moving his lips.

"I'm your doctor," McCoy says. "I need to be able to—"

"I don't want you to see."

For a moment there is silence, cut only by the whir and blip of the monitors.

"Captain, there is little logic in vanity," Spock says, from his safe distance. "Superficial scarring will in no way hinder your command. The doctor requires you to—"

"I said I've got this, Spock," McCoy snaps. He walks around the other side of the bed, closer to Jim and sits down beside him. Jim's uncovered eye darts toward him and quickly back again. He does not uncover his face, but he doesn't move any further away either, and at least that's something. 

"The hobgoblin might be an insensitive bastard," McCoy murmurs, and not so low that Spock can't hear, either, "but he's right about one thing. The face is just the tip of the iceberg. You're more than that."

"It's hideous," Jim mutters.

"I bet it's not."

"I'm not being facetious," he whispers, and the single eye that McCoy can see scrunches closed in a grimace of pure misery. "You know me, you know I wouldn't... Bones. _Bones,_ it's... I can't let you see it, you'll—"

"Hush," McCoy says, and reaches over to brush the hiding hands away.

It _is_ hideous. 

The scars extend in a web of deep cracks out from the forehead and halfway down the cheek, stray tendrils reaching as far as the nose and upper lip. Angry red crevices tinged with a burnt, grayish hue along the sides, like termite burrows in a sodden block of rotten wood. One earlobe is all but gone, the once-fine cheekbone slumped and sunken, a large chunk of the soft blond hair burned away to a stinking, whitish charcoal. Where the strange organisms burrowed deeper into Jim's skin, ropes of flesh hang down in weathered tatters, puckered and blistered, and atop it all, the crowning horror, is the pearl-like matt of phaser burn scar, sending out webs of dead, shiny whiteness across the swollen ruin. 

A bright blue eye peers out at McCoy from all this wreckage like a lost, frightened thing.

"Bones," Jim whispers again, hopeless, desperate, afraid, and, uncaring of the grotesque swelling, uncaring of the smell of burnt hair and skin, uncaring most of all of Spock still lingering in his corner, McCoy slides close and presses his lips to Jim's.

"It's not that bad," he says when he pulls away, locking his eyes with Jim's and holding strong and steady. "Oh Jim. It's not that bad."

For a moment Jim says nothing, only holds the gaze. Then his eyes squeeze closed and he leans in, presses his uninjured cheek to McCoy's shoulder and wraps his arms around him, his breath gushing out in a shuddery sigh that's almost a moan. McCoy responds in kind, hugging Jim as hard as he can.

"You're all right," he mutters gruffly, in between the rough, fast kisses that he can't seem to stop pressing to the uninjured corner of Jim's trembling mouth. "It doesn't matter, you're all right and that's all that matters, and you're here with me and you're all right..."

He knows the words don't make sense, he knows this isn't hygienic, isn't good medicine, he knows that Spock is watching and likely disapproving. 

But he doesn't care, and he only holds Jim tighter.


End file.
